


Calling in the Cavalry

by 26stars



Series: How I Met Melinda [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU Meeting, Gen, I feel like I'm getting worse and worse at a tagging these, Teenaged Skye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 14:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars
Summary: “It’s the middle of the night and I’m walking home alone in the dark and there’s this guy following me and he’s starting to gain on me and I found this phone booth with a lock on the door and I tried to call my best friend but my hands were shaking so badly I accidentally dialed the wrong number and I don’t even know you but help me” ~AU meeting





	Calling in the Cavalry

**Author's Note:**

> This is such a scary thing for any girl to go through. If only we all had May on speed-dial.
> 
> I know I spoiled you guys for a couple of weeks, but this is probably the last thing I'll post for a little while. AU August has been fun!

There’s no doubt in her mind that Skye is being followed; at this point it’s just a question of how closely.

She knew it was stupid, leaving the party alone, but the people she’d ridden there with were well on their way to passing out at the nasty college pad that was hosting the bash, and Skye was pretty sure that she was close enough to her latest residence to walk back. Not like she had money for a cab or many driving-age friends she could call at this hour… And even though her foster parents didn’t set a clear curfew, she’s trying to stay on their good side as long as she can. Waking them up to fetch her home from a party she shouldn’t be at isn’t going to help her there.

But now, Skye knows she should have been smarter. Getting stranded at a house party would have been a pain, but getting assaulted on her way home could be a lot worse.

As she passes through the halo of another streetlight and risks a glance over her shoulder under cover of shadows, she sees that the guy behind her is big—tall and long-legged—not the kind of person she trusts herself to be able to outrun. He’s not looking at her—seems to be looking interestedly around at the houses on this residential street, as if he’s looking for the right house.

But Skye knows what he’s really looking for.

 _Get to a street with more people_ , Skye tells herself, attempting to stay calm. She quickens her pace a little, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag that barely has anything more than gum, a wallet, and lip gloss.

The neighborhood dumps out onto a two-lane road that is slightly more public, but at this hour there’s still not a huge amount of traffic. Up ahead, she can see the lights of a gas station, and Skye hurries a little faster.

She can’t make herself look back, but her heart nearly climbs into her throat at the sound of the steps behind her picking up too.

Headlights from an approaching car behind her signal a witness, so Skye breaks into a run, clutching her bag to her chest and sprinting towards the safety of the station ahead. As she nears the lot, however, she sees that the attached convenience store is closed and locked up, and, realizing with horror that there is no one there to help her, she hurls herself into the phone booth just off the lot. There is a lock on the door, which she slides frantically, fumbling for the phone. Skye shoves two quarters into the machine and dials with trembling hands.

She knows she could call her foster parents, but she doesn’t remember the number of her new home.

She could call 911, but what would she even say?

So she dials one of the only numbers she has memorized—her caseworker’s—clutching the phone in both hands and pressing against a corner of the Plexiglas cube while she watches the man pass on the street, glancing only once in her direction with an annoyed look on his face.

_Just because he’s passing doesn’t mean he’s gone…_

Her caseworker picks up after three rings.

“Hello?”

“Danielle, it’s me, I know it’s late and I’m so sorry but can you and come pick me up? I was leaving a party trying to get myself home but there’s this guy following me and I can’t shake him and he’s tall and I don’t think I can make it home…”

Skye trails off, the fear finally hitting her like a punch in the gut. Her throat closes, and she presses her lips together to keep from whimpering into the phone, attempting to breathe slowly through her nose.

“Hey, kid,” the woman’s voice on the other side of the phone says gently. “I think you have the wrong number—I’m not Danielle. But if you’re in Baltimore, then I can definitely help you.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Skye stammers, realizing that her hands must have been shaking too much. “I’ll hang up and call her—“

“You can do that if you’ve got more money, but listen,” the woman is saying, sounding awake. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come find you. This is my cell phone, so I can stay on the line with you until your money runs out, and if it does, I can redial this number. Can you just stay on the line with me? You can call someone else when I get there and make sure you’re safe, or I can give you a lift home.”

For a moment, Skye can’t even form a response, but suddenly, against her will, she begins to cry. Ashamed, she nearly hangs up, but she’s afraid to lose her one connection to a person who knows where she is.

“Hey, it’s okay, kid, just tell me where you are,” the woman on the other side of the phone says, gently but urgently. “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“50th and Britain,” Skye manages between sobs. “It’s a payphone at the Chevron station.”

“Attagirl. Just stay there—I’m not far. Maybe five minutes away if I don’t run any red lights.”

“I’m sorry,” Skye manages, pressing a frustrated fist against her wet eyes. “I’m sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” the woman on the other side of the phone says gently. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

The money, somehow, has not run out by the time a silver sedan rolls up the street a couple of minutes later, seeming to be going much faster than the speed limit.

“You see a silver car coming?” the voice on the phone asks, and Skye nods.

“Yeah,” she hiccups into the receiver.

“See my ridiculous front license plate?” the woman says as the car turns into the lot. “My husband really likes Captain America.”

In spite of her tears, Skye smiles.  _Seems appropriate._

The car rolls up directly next to the payphone, not bothering with a parking spot, and the driver’s door opens without the woman killing the engine. The person who emerges isn’t exactly what Skye was picturing, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what she was expecting.

“Want me to take you home?” the Asian woman says into the cell phone she still has pressed to her ear, meeting Skye’s gaze through the glass. “Or do you want me to wait with you while you call someone else?”

The smart thing would probably have been to stay in the booth and call someone else rather than put herself in a stranger’s hands, but Skye is just so relieved that she hangs up the phone, opens the door, and hurls herself into the woman’s arms.

The woman seems understandably surprised by the action, but she doesn’t back away, just holds Skye gently with one arm as she slips her phone back into her pants pocket.

“You’re okay,” she says, rubbing Skye’s back gently as her tears begin afresh. “You’re okay.”

It feels like they stand there in non-silence for at least a minute with Skye snuffling into the woman’s shoulder, but the woman doesn’t seem impatient when she finally says, “Hey, the car’s a little warmer. You okay to get in and tell me what you want to do?”

Skye can only manage a nod against her shoulder, and the woman walks her around to the passenger side, moving back around to the driver’s side only after Skye is tucked safely into the shotgun seat.

“Quite a night for you,” the woman says as she drops into the driver’s seat and shuts the door, hitting the power-lock button and flipping on the interior lights. “Do you want me to take you home? Or you can use my phone and call someone else if you don’t want a ride from a stranger.”

Skye pulls up the collar of her shirt to wipe the tears and other stuff off her face, taking a few deep breaths.

“I’m so sorry,” she tries again, risking a glance at the driver, who shakes her head, handing her a napkin from the side pocket of the door.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” the woman says as Skye wipes the smeared makeup off her eyes and blows her nose. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Thank you,” Skye says when she's done, risking a glance at the woman again. “Thank you for taking care of me. Sorry I’m such a mess.”

The woman’s lips turn up in a gentle smile as she passes her another napkin. “Just take a few deep breaths. You're all right.”

As she glances through the windshield while wiping her eyes again, Skye's heart stutters in her chest when she sees the man from before passing on his way back up the street. She doesn’t say anything, but the way she ceases to breathe must tip the woman off.

“Is that him?” the woman asks, and Skye nods once, stiffly, before tearing her gaze away.

The woman is reaching for the door handle, though.

“Stay in the car,” she says—orders—as she climbs out, and Skye is so dumbfounded that she can’t even react until the woman hits the power lock button and closes her door.

“Wait!” Skye cries, but the woman is already marching through the dark right up to the tall stranger, stepping boldly in front of him and saying something Skye can’t quite hear over the car’s engine.

The man doesn’t respond to the woman at first, but he’s practically smirking in response to whatever she’s saying to him. When he does finally open his mouth, whatever he says seems to startle the woman for a brief second.

Then her fist suddenly cracks across the man's face, and Skye gasps.

The man seems equally surprised, but after three more swift movements from the small woman, he is groaning on the sidewalk, curled in a ball. The woman says something else to him with a lot more emotion than before, then turns on her heel and stomps back towards the car. Skye is still staring with her mouth hanging open, and it’s only when the woman knocks once on the window that she remembers to unlock the doors for her.

The woman’s knuckles are a little bit red as she climbs back into the car and buckles her seatbelt, but that and the man still trying to stagger to his feet are the only clues that Skye didn’t imagine what she just saw.

“What an asshole,” the woman grumbles, reaching for the gearshift. “Sorry you had to go through that. But hopefully, now, no other girl will.”

The puts the car in drive but then offers her mobile to Skye.

“Call, or home?” she prompts, looking at Skye expectantly.

“Home,” Skye manages, feeling the first ghost of a disbelieving smile flit across her face. “The Acres over on 29th.”

The woman nods, dropping her phone in the cup-holder and guiding the car out to the street again.

“I’m Melinda, by the way,” the driver offers, glancing in Skye’s direction.

“Glad to meet you, Melinda,” Skye says, meaning every word of it. “I’m Skye.”


End file.
